


A Really Dumb Thing About Idiots In Love

by EmieB123



Series: Dumb Boys in Love [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, i really dont know what to tag, ill just embarrass myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmieB123/pseuds/EmieB123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are references and an 'I do'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Really Dumb Thing About Idiots In Love

**Author's Note:**

> this is so freaking dumb im sorry
> 
> (this was supposed to be a serious thing why does this always happen)
> 
> Also I'm still having trouble with italics, what else is new

"No I cannot compare thee to Apollo. Apollo was a fool who busied himself with pretty music and men. No, you are Athena Parthenos- a cold statue of ivory and gold. The virgin goddess of a quick tongue and witty mind.” 

“You do know I’m not actually a virgin?” Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. He knew it would be quicker to just let Grantaire ramble to satisfaction, but he really couldn’t help interrupting every now and then (okay, a lot, but Grantaire never seemed to mind).

“Yes, Enjolras. I figured that out pretty fast after you threw my down on your bed and had your wily way with me.” He smirked as the room broke out into poorly concealed laughter.

(Bossuet fell of his chair yelling, "Alliteration! That is alliteration right? Pay up suckers!"

“No way, that was only the fifth time and the meeting isn’t even over yet!” Bahorel yelled right back before turning to Courfeyrac, “Also can I put down another ten on obscure reference?”)

Enjolras blushed. “Continue.”

“Thank you. Now where was I . . .”

“You know exactly where you were, now get on with it.” Courfeyrac yelled from his perch on Combeferre’s lap (the prime position for flicking tiny pieces of paper into an oblivious Marius’ hair).

Grantaire glared at him, “I don’t believe I asked you, hamster-cheeks.” 

“You asked the whole bloody room, moron, now hurry up. And Enjolras please stop with the puppy-in-love eyes it’s sickening, honestly.”

Enjolras muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, dear leader?” Courfeyrac stared him down.

“I said, not nearly as sickening as the way you were staring at Combeferre's ass this morning.”

Courfeyrac smirked, “Touche, touche.”

“I still can’t believe you actually fell out of your chair-”

“Okay, that’s quite enough of that.” Combeferre interrupted before anyone could be even more publicly humiliated. “I believe Grantaire was in the middle of something?”

“Thank you, Combeferre, always the voice of reason. I was at Athena, correct?” He cleared his throat before continuing, “A wrathful being born from the mind of a king of gods. Proud and vengeful and terrible. So wise yet still she was petty enough to quarrel for Eris' apple. When I compare you to the great gods, understand that although I see their greatness in you, their power and rage . . . I also see the madness. Do not think yourself so great that nothing can touch you, even the grand old pagan myths have faded in their time."

“I fear I must disagree with you on that point.” Jehan spoke up from where he was doodling on the table near Enjolras’ arm.

“Oh? And what does our esteemed Prouvaire have to say on the matter?”

Jehan blushed and carried on hesitantly, “Well, who are you to say the gods of old have faded? Perhaps they remain with us.”

Grantaire pulled up a chair, suddenly serious, “And why do you think that, mon coeur? It’s not like they’re still running around boozing and fucking like the good old days.”

“No, but when you look around at the world around us, it still seems, to me, as if some of their essence lingers in the trees and streams. When you walk alone in a meadow or forest and let everything just wash over you, it fills you with such utter peace and wonder- how could you possibly deny the presence of the great lord Pan and his servants the nymphs and dryads who inhabit the leaves and rustle the trees. I cede that they are not what they once were but do not dismiss them as gone entirely.”

Grantaire pondered this for a moment before grinning, “You never fail to disappoint, dear muse of muses. But I fear Enjolras is getting impatient for his daily dose of Grantaire.”

“I wouldn’t have to get impatient if you didn’t write an entire speech every time you wanted to ask me to come to bed.” Enjolras said lightly. 

“Ah, but what’s the fun in that?” Grantaire leaned in so close Enjolras could feel his breath on his lips, before pulling away with a playful smile. “Now if we’re quite finished with the interruptions, I have a curly-haired temptress that is in dire need of a bed.”

“If it’s so dire, can we just skip to the bed part?” Enjolras complained.

Grantaire tsked at him, “Now darling, you know I couldn’t do that to you. I know how you love the sound of my voice.”

“We talked about the pet names.” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” Grantaire shuddered, “unfortunately I remember.”

“And what did we decide?”

“No pet names except when we’re getting kinky in bed.” Grantaire recited.

Enjolras glared at him, “That is not what we decided.”

Grantaire shrugged, “It’s a compromise.”

“No, a compromise requires the agreement of both parties. If I remember correctly, I was against them as a whole.”

He smirked, “You sure weren’t complaining last night.”

Enjolras groaned and dropped his head onto the table in defeat, “Just finish your bloody speech so we can go home.”

“As you wish” Grantaire eyes sparkled, “I believe you will one day shine as bright as Helios in his flaming chariot, but you cannot carry on like this or you will simply burn up before your time. Like Phaeton who tried to drive the sun itself you will be struck down before your task is done. All I ask is a break from this madness" he grinned wildly "and a detour to another kind of insanity. An asylum of sex and sleep and dreams. Allow yourself this, if only for a night" He extended a hand to Enjolras.

He took it, “Getting sloppy, are we, reusing old speeches?”

“Only because you were getting so pissy.”

“I was not getting ‘pissy’, you were being unreasonable, as always.”

"What you call unreasonable, others call art." His smile faded into a bashful grin, "I honestly didn't think you'd notice."

Enjolras rolled his eyes "You're being an idiot again, of course I noticed. Now can we please go now?”

Grantaire considered it for a moment before turning away, “Actually I think I’d like another drink first. And Bahorel is only two references away from winning the pool and drinks are on him for the rest of the week if I helped him win.”

Enjolras stared at him, “So I sat through all that for nothing?”

“Well, not for nothing.” Grantaire winked, “You’ll just have to wait a little longer before you get it.”

 

***

 

“What is it with you and mythology, anyway?” Courfeyrac asked, lying flat across the surface of the bar and ignoring Musichetta staring daggers at him. “Is it like some kind of weird fetish I haven’t tried yet, hidden away in the darkest corners of the internet porn community? Because if so I am very offended no one’s told me about it yet.”

 

***

 

A few hours later and everyone is stumbling home in various stages of intoxication (thanks to Bahorel buying shots for everyone after his victory) after Musichetta had kicked them out.

Enjolras was trying to support Grantaire, who was mumbling to himself and leaning heavily on Enjolras. He glanced back, hoping for a little help from Combeferre, but it looked like he had his hands full with Courfeyrac, who was trying to convince him that a piggyback ride was a foolproof idea and they needed to get on that now.

“I’m a pigeon.” Grantaire slurred.

“What does that even mean?” Enjolras asked, only slightly annoyed.

“Did I not say all of that aloud? My apologies. What I was thinking and kind of said was that you are a majestic turkey and in comparison I am merely a street pigeon”

Enjolras could feel his lips pulling into a reluctant smile, “An hour ago you were waxing prose on ancient myths I’d never even heard of before and now the best you can do is turkey?”

Grantaire stopped short, ignoring Enjolras trying to tug him along, “Are you slandering the ancient and honorable turkey? That majestic steed who-”

Enjolras laughed, “I don’t think steed means what you think it means.”

Grantaire clumsily slapped a hand over his mouth, “Silence! Until you have atoned for your sins.”

Enjolras pulled away, “What sins? You’re the one who called me a turkey.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well why not something more . . . traditionally recognized as-”

“Fuck tradition.” Grantaire finally let Enjolras drag him a little farther down the street (it was cold and Enjolras would much rather continue this conversation in the warmth of his flat), “Besides, your hair looks very turkey-ish in the morning. And your personality just screams turkey. Don’t you agree Combeferre?”

Combeferre had apparently given in to Courfeyrac, who looked very happy draped over his back. “The very picture of turkey dignity.” He replied, trying to smother his laughter and failing miserably.

“Did you know the Amazons worshipped turkeys as favors from Zeus.” Grantaire booped his nose.

“Really?” Enjolras played along.

“No, I made it up.” Grantaire stumbled over his own feet. “But the point is, turkeys are the shit, you are also the shit, therefore you are a turkey.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and let Grantaire lean heavily on his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.” He said fondly.

“You love me.” Grantaire mumbled into his skin.

“I really do.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are, as always, more than welcome and my tumblr is lesbianqueenofhighgarden


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